Then at last he escaped, and in another minute, amidst the cheers of the crowd, was driving away at the side of the stately Isobel.
At the Hall, where one of the wards had been cleared for the purpose, there was a little informal reception, at which for a while Godfrey found himself officiating alone, since Isobel had disappeared with General Cubitte and the brother officer who had acted as his best man. When at length they returned he asked her where she had been, rather sharply perhaps, for his nerves were on edge.
“To see to some business with the lawyer,” she answered.
“What business, dear?” he inquired. “I thought you settled all that this morning?”
“It could not be settled this morning, Godfrey, because a will can only be signed after marriage.”
“Good gracious!” he exclaimed. “Give me a glass of champagne.”
An hour later they were motoring to London alone, at last alone, and to this pair Heaven opened its seventh door.
They dined in the private sitting-room of the suite which under the inspiration of Isobel he had taken at a London hotel, and then after the curious-eyed waiters had cleared the table, sat together in front of the fire, hand in hand, but not talking very much. At length Isobel rose and they embraced each other.
“I am going to bed now,” she said; “but before you come, and perhaps we forget about such matters, I want you to kneel down with me and say a prayer.”
He obeyed as a child might, though wondering, for somehow he had never connected Isobel and Prayer in his mind. There they knelt in front of the fire, as reverently as though it burned upon an altar, and Isobel said her prayer aloud. It ran thus: